


Men and Monsters

by ShootingStar7123



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 14:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16914762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShootingStar7123/pseuds/ShootingStar7123
Summary: Someone from Shepard’s past has found her—and he wants revenge. Post-trilogy.





	Men and Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in response to a prompt on the Mass Effect Kink Meme under the title "Ghosts of the Past".

She awoke feeling groggy.

 

That was not an unusual occurrence in and of itself. But it only took her seconds to realize that it was the only part of her situation that wasn’t. Shepard was not in bed. She was flat on her back against cold metal, her wrists and ankles immobilized by metal cuffs that held her fast to the table she lay upon.

 

She was still in her own clothing, but the familiar weight of her pistol was missing. She chanced to look around—it appeared to be a medical lab of some sort, though not a well-equipped one. The tools of the trade that lay about seemed old and worn, the walls and floors dirty, the lighting dim. The telltale vibration of a moving starship was absent, she noted. An abandoned hospital, maybe.

 

She assessed her situation. She didn’t know her location, the identity of her captors, nor how long she had been out. Garrus, still on his way home from Palaven, wouldn’t know she was missing until he got back—at least a day from when she’d been captured. She did recall that Tali had been planning to call that afternoon, but she wasn’t sure if the quarian would find one missed call a reason to worry.

 

Shepard could wait and take her chances, but she was not a particularly patient person.

 

She lifted her head to take a look at her restraints. She would need either a very powerful or incredibly precise mass effect field to break open the shackles that held her. Not impossible, but each idea its drawbacks. A burst powerful enough to break them open would certainly cause enough noise for someone to investigate, and a field precise enough to open them would take time and effort, leaving her open to interruption during the process. Both would expend immense amounts of energy, enough to leave her tired and more vulnerable than she would like.

 

Before she could come to a decision, she heard voices from outside the room. Her eyes darted to the door, cast in shadow. She stilled instinctively to hear what was said. She caught only a few words, but was certain she recognized one of the voices. As her mind tried to catalogue the possibilities, the door creaked open, and a figure stepped from the shadows.

 

She sucked in a shallow breath. “Toombs?”

 

He grinned coldly. “Surprised to see me?” He paced, circling around her. “You shouldn’t be.”

 

Her eyes never left him, but her mind scrambled for some kind of understanding. And then she remembered—the message he’d sent a couple years ago about her working with Cerberus.

 

She assessed her options. He had the advantage over her, that was obvious. Her chances of escaping with him in the room—and probably armed men outside—was low. At this particular moment, she determined, her combat skills would do her little good. She would have to use another set of skills.

 

“Toombs, I only worked with Cerberus to take down the Collectors,” she explained, keeping her voice calm and level. “Then I stole their ship, rejoined the Alliance, and destroyed their whole damn organization,” she reminded him. “I killed the Illusive Man and his top agent, blew up their base, and thwarted all their plans.” He seemed unmoved, but she continued. “After everything I’ve done against Cerberus, are you planning on killing me for that temporary alliance?” she questioned.

 

“Killing you?” he repeated, and laughed. “No.” In a swift motion, he came to lean over her, his dark eyes staring intensely into her own. “I’m going to show you what they did to me,” he said softly, and her blood ran cold. Those eyes told her everything she needed to know.

 

Toombs wasn’t just angry. He was insane.

 

She couldn’t argue with a sociopath.

 

Her persuasive abilities would get her nowhere here. If she was going to escape from this, she would have to break out. She needed a plan, and she needed it fast. For now, she would try to keep him talking.

 

He’d turned away, fiddling with something on a counter that she couldn’t quite see. “Why, Toombs?” she called to him. “Why does this matter so much to you? I didn’t work with them because I agreed with their methods.”

 

He whipped around, anger flaring in his eyes. “There’s no reason good enough, Shepard!” he yelled. “That’s what you don’t understand.” His voice went quiet, a terrifying calmness in his words. “There’s nothing you can say to me to excuse working with them. No explanation you can give.” He paused, coming close, his manic gaze piercing. “And I’m going to show you exactly why.”

 

Shepard swallowed, feeling more afraid than she would ever admit. “What are you planning to do?” she ventured to ask.

 

Toombs moved to what looked to be a small refrigeration unit and pulled something out. When he’d returned to her side, he brandished a large syringe. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, in a voice that made her blood run cold. She had a guess, one terrible guess, but he didn’t expect an answer. Toombs leaned in close, whispering in her ear, “Concentrated thresher maw acid.”

 

He held the syringe up to the dim light, illuminating the sickly green substance within the glass, and gave her a ghastly smile. “You’re going to experience every test they ran on me,” he told her. “And when I decide I’m done with you, we’re going to find a nice, deadly, uninhabited piece of land on Akuze for you to live out your retirement.” He laughed mirthlessly. “What’s left of it.”

 

And before she could say another word, the needle was in her arm. A feeling like fire spread within her, a burning agony that seemed to claw at her from the inside out. She closed her eyes and bit back a cry of pain.

 

Toombs simply laughed. “To whet your appetite,” he told her. “I’ll be back.”

 

She heard the door close just before another wave of pain wrenched through her, everything blending together in a haze of fire.

 

…

 

Shepard awoke with a gasp the second time. She’d lost consciousness, she realized, and again had no idea of how much time had passed or how much time she had left before Toombs returned. She took account of her situation once more. The need to escape was perhaps more urgent now, but her body still felt as if it was on fire. It had died down from unbearable to a dull roar. She could work with that.

 

She looked around the room, eyes searching for a potential weapon. She wished she knew how many guards were at her door. If it was just one, she could disarm him and take his gun. If there were two or more, however, she would have to be that much quicker. Whatever the situation, she would have to take her chances.

 

She didn’t know the layout or how many men Toombs had. She didn’t know the facility’s location or whether she had backup coming. She hated going in blind, but it was better than waiting for Toombs to decide he was ready for the next round of testing. She was short on time.

 

Shepard took in a deep breath and focused.

 

Crackling biotic energy burst forth, sending shockwaves out from her. Glass instruments shattered on the counters. The room trembled. The shackles cracked enough for her to break herself out, and she fell to her hands and knees, shaking from exertion.

 

The door slammed open. Two guards. Mercenaries.

 

She jumped to her feet as quickly as she could, taking the first guard’s moment of uncertainty as an opportunity. She reached him in a split second, twisting his arm to release his weapon. Before he could react, she delivered a precise punch, driving the bones of his nose directly into his brain. He was dead before he hit the ground.

 

As Shepard raised the stolen rifle, pain burst forth from her shoulder. She cried out, stumbling backwards a few steps as she fired blindly towards the second guard.

 

When she caught her breath, he was crumpled in the doorway and spots of blood peppered the fabric of her tee shirt.

 

 _Two down_ , she thought grimly.

 

She wished for a pistol—anything she could shoot with one hand—but the second merc had only a rifle of the same make as the one she held in her hands. Neither were carrying medi-gel. She took a quick look at the wound. Three rounds had gone clear through her shoulder. Nothing critical had been hit, she quickly surmised, but it hurt like a bitch.

 

She took a few deep breaths before moving towards the door. She rested against the door frame for a moment. She was shaking. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been on that table, but it was long enough for her to be tired and hungry—a very bad thing for a biotic, especially when she’d used up so much energy to break herself free. The acid still burning in her veins was no help, nor was the injury from where the guard had managed to hit her. But she’d made it through worse before. No way in hell was she going to let one crazy man kill her after she’d survived the reapers.

 

As she stepped out into the hallway, she heard footsteps coming towards her. She shouldered her rifle, taking out the first mercenary that appeared around the corner and the two that followed him.

 

There were two other doors on the hallway before it turned the corner. She peeked in each, quickly seeing that they were empty but for some ominous looking medical equipment. One held, among other things, a tank not unlike Grunt’s, and the other appeared to be designated as some kind of operating room. She shuddered slightly at the implications before heading carefully down the hall.

 

The place was a damn maze. The rooms—and the mercs—seemed to go on forever. She lost count of how many she’d killed before she reached him.

 

Toombs blocked the doorway, flanked by two mercenaries on each side. Two were down and she was nearly into cover when a round went through her thigh.

 

She fell, scrambling for cover through the dizzying pain when she was grabbed from behind, rifle falling uselessly from her hands.

 

She was so damn stupid. You always check your corners.

 

Shepard struggled fruitlessly against the arms that held her, but the mercenary was strong and quick, and not slowed by injury or exhaustion as she was. Her biotic push was weak and did nothing.

 

Toombs grinned from across the room as she was dragged towards him, twisting ineffectually in the hands that held her fast. She felt the blood trickling down her thigh, and looked down to see the blood that soaked her shirt. Neither injury would heal if she kept fighting like this. She would lose too much blood.

 

She sagged tiredly against the mercenary, mind racing to find a new plan. Toombs laughed chillingly. “You won’t get the chance to finish what Cerberus started, Shepard,” he taunted.

 

And then the head of the merc holding her exploded.

 

In the ensuing chaos, Shepard grabbed his weapon, dropping down behind a crate of medical supplies. She took out one of the guards, and the last one was dead before she turned her weapon on him.

 

A turian in blue armor and a haze of fury appeared behind a falling Toombs, and before Shepard could process what was even happening, Garrus had stepped forward purposefully, placing his boot across Toombs’s throat.

 

“Maybe she won’t finish it,” he growled, “but I will.”

 

Time slowed.

 

Shepard cried out to Garrus, but before she could say more than his name, she heard the snap and watched the human’s body go limp.

 

Garrus didn’t move, still staring at Toombs with utter hatred until Shepard pulled herself up with the help of the crate she’d been using as cover. Seeing her seemed to snap him out of it, and he rushed over to her as she stared mutely at the broken body lying near the doorway.

 

Without a word, Garrus tore her shirt from her body, ripping open a packet of medi-gel and applying it to the wound in her shoulder.

 

Shepard said nothing, her eyes still on Toombs. She felt sick at the sight of her old comrade-in-arms dead in the floor. She should have been able to help him. She should have been able to do _something_.

 

It should never have come to this.

 

Garrus was painstakingly rolling up her pant leg to reach the other wound when she finally looked at him. “You didn’t have to kill him,” she said angrily.

 

He spared her only a glance before turning to examine the injury. “Your life was in danger. I did what I had to.”

 

“He was mentally ill!” she argued. “He needed help, Garrus,” she insisted. Her voice shook slightly.

 

His eyes snapped up to hers. “Not every problem can be solved with words,” he said in a warning tone, rolling her pant leg back after applying the medi-gel.

 

Frustration rose up within her. “He wasn’t in his right mind,” she fought heatedly. “He didn’t deserve to die for being sick! We could have taken him to a facility!”

 

He said nothing, lifting her into his arms to carry her. She winced at the pain that wrenched through her body, but she shot him a glare. “I can walk,” she insisted. He gave a little warning growl in his throat but didn’t respond.

 

As he carried her from the room, her eyes fell on Toombs again. “Why?” she asked, unable to let it go. “Why did you kill him?”

 

Garrus stopped in his tracks, glaring down at her with a look she hadn’t seen since the day he shot Sidonis. “Because I’m not you,” he said vehemently, and carried her away in shocked silence.

 

…

 

Shepard woke in a hospital bed. “Don’t get up, Commander,” a strange voice warned as she tried to sit. She saw an asari doctor coming towards her from across the room. “You had quite the ordeal,” the doctor said.

 

Shepard glanced around, seeing Garrus by her side. She gave him a wan smile, but he looked away. Memories came back to her. The argument about Toombs. In her own frustration and guilt, she’d pushed him too far.

 

The doctor left the room, and Shepard glanced back at Garrus. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You passed out sometime before we reached the ship,” he volunteered, already knowing that she would ask.

 

“Whose ship are we on?” was her next question. She watched him, still clearly angry and hurt, though he was trying to hide it.

 

Garrus shrugged. “Courtesy of the Shadow Broker,” he explained, though it didn’t clarify much. “Didn’t say where it had come from.”

 

They both fell silent again, Shepard staring at Garrus as he stared at the floor. People always said she had a way with words, but she didn’t know how to start this conversation.

 

“I’m not sorry,” Garrus said suddenly.

 

Shepard blinked at his unexpected outburst. “What?”

 

He shifted slightly in his chair and turned his eyes to her. “I’m not sorry I killed Toombs,” he told her firmly. Shepard’s brows shot up, but he didn’t pause. “He didn’t deserve to live, not after what he did to you,” he insisted, and then his voice got suddenly quiet. “I don’t forgive and forget as easily as you do.”

 

Shepard was silent for a moment. In the heat of the moment she’d said more than she meant to. Most of her anger wasn’t for Garrus—it was for herself. She should have found a way to prevent this. She’d been busy with the Collector mission when Toombs had sent his message years ago, but that seemed now to be a sorry excuse.

 

She stared at her hands. “I don’t expect you to be me,” she said quietly, and she reached for his hand. Hesitantly, he met her halfway. “I don’t know that I would have felt differently in your place,” she confessed.

 

“I just wish—” she broke off before saying it, but she didn’t need to.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Garrus’s mandibles flare in realization. “You aren’t responsible for this,” he told her firmly. His grip on her hand tightened. “You tried to help him once.”

 

Shepard remembered it well. With all that had been going on at the time, she had forgotten Toombs—she didn’t follow up on him. Maybe it had been too painful to think about Toombs. Thinking about Toombs meant thinking about Akuze. More death. More failure.

 

His voice was gentle when it came again. “You aren’t responsible for everyone, you know.”

 

She knew, deep down, that he was right, but that didn’t make the guilt go away. “I’ll work on believing you,” she told him, and she gave him a small smile.

 

Garrus turned serious. “I’m just…” His mandibles fluttered. “I’m glad you made it out of there in one piece.” His blue eyes were filled with obvious relief, and Shepard squeezed his hand comfortingly.

 

The relief disappeared behind something that was not quite teasing, but very close. “Just so you know,” he told her, “Next time I go to Palaven, you’re coming with me.”

 

“Is that an order?” Shepard asked, raising an inquiring brow.

 

Garrus came in close, his breath warm on her ear as he answered, “I’ll give you plenty of incentive to follow it.”

 

Shepard gave him her first real smile. When he smiled back, it felt like home.

 

…

 


End file.
